I’m not typically petty. Between raising three kids and working full-time, I just don’t have the time. But when someone comes after my peace, my children, or our home, especially because I caught a break? That’s when I go from calm to strategic.
I’m Anna, 36, a single mom to three amazing kids: Liam, 11, the thoughtful one; Maya, 7, bold and inquisitive; and Atlas, 4, a ball of energy. Our mornings start before dawn, with me juggling school lunches, getting everyone dressed, and working my way through endless to-do lists. I lead a team at a logistics company, and after years of hard work, I was finally promoted to Operations Manager.
That promotion meant a raise—nothing huge, but enough to let me say yes to small things like new shoes or a school trip without dipping into next month’s budget. We’d been renting a modest two-bedroom home for five years. It wasn’t much, but it was ours, and it was safe.
Then there’s Frank, our landlord. He treated me like a squatter, slow to make repairs and indifferent to my basic requests. When the rent went up \$500 just after my promotion, I knew it was no coincidence. Frank’s response was cold: “You wanted a career and kids? That comes with bills.”
But I wasn’t going to beg or scrape by. I decided to teach him a lesson. I posted in every local housing and parenting group about how he was punishing working moms. The post went viral, and soon, other tenants shared their horror stories about Frank’s shady practices. Within days, the story spread across social media.
Frank eventually texted me, offering to keep the rent the same, but it was too late. I’d already found a new place. We moved out at the end of the month, leaving Frank to deal with his empty units. Our new home, though smaller, has real bedrooms, a yard Atlas calls his “farm,” and a landlord who actually cares.
I still get messages from people thanking me for speaking out. In a world where rent rises and respect is hard to find, word of mouth is powerful. Frank thought he could take advantage of us, but he underestimated the strength of a determined mom.
A few weeks later, I invited my new landlord, Mrs. Calder, over for dinner. It wasn’t much, but I cooked a meal to say thank you. It was the first time in a while I felt like we weren’t just surviving, but truly rooting in a place where we belong.